


Spoilt

by unsettled



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 04:29:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6500845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shine has worn off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spoilt

**Author's Note:**

> This went … in a much more gentle direction than it started. Perhaps some day I will write the version that goes in the other direction.

Coward comes to him, flushed, smiling, careless. Lips plush and parted, too free with his hands, smelling of Eaux-de-Vie and smoke. 

Sweet and bitter. 

He frowns at Coward, eyes narrowing as he takes him in. “Daniel,” he says, carefully, unmoving.

“Henry,” Coward says, brightly, with a smile Blackwood thinks is attempting to be sly. It falls short, managing only soppiness. Coward leans into him, tilting his head up for a kiss. “I’ve missed you,” he sighs. 

He stares down at Coward, lips tight. “We’ve discussed this, Daniel,” he says, the weight of his words a warning in themselves. 

“Oh, don’t be such a bore,” Coward says - whines - clinging to him. “just because you disapprove of a drink now and again-”

“I disapprove,” Blackwood says, sharply, jerking his arm from Coward’s grasp, “of who you become after ‘a drink now and again’.”

Coward pouts, a sight which strikes Blackwood prettily at other times. “Don’t be angry with me, Henry.”

Now, the pout is nothing but childish, petulant, the unsubtle manipulations of a spoiled brat. He grasps Coward’s chin, fingers firm. “I disapprove,” he hisses, “of your behavior. Of your lack of judgment.” he shakes Coward, slightly, fingers digging in sharp enough to leave bruises. “Of your failings.”

He leans in, close, so close, lips nearly brushing Coward’s, till Coward’s eyes are a hazy kaleidoscope of black and blue. “I disapprove,” he says, quiet, low, “of carelessness.”

Coward is watching him now, wide eyed and caught, like a mouse beneath the paws of a cat, seeing its end looming near with no escape awarded. He is beautiful, Blackwood admits, even now, even showing off, flaunting, the worst of his vices, the depth of his shortcomings. 

Beautiful, but spoiled. He knows this now, has known it for some time, that there is a soft, easily ruined core to Coward, rather than the strength he had hoped for, the partner - equal - that he had allowed himself to dream of. He had thought there was so much more to Coward, but instead - 

Instead - 

Coward is pretty, and wicked, and weak. He would crumple under the weight of Blackwood’s will, unable to summon the self discipline and obedience Blackwood would demand of him. Tomorrow, Coward will wake, head pounding and heart stuttering in his chest, and regret this, will attempt to make breathless amends. They have played this game before. 

He is spoiled, spoiled rotten, and such things are nothing more than a distraction and an indulgence, to be put aside when they became too much trouble. 

He releases Coward, steps back. “I am not angry,” he tells Coward, who begins to smile, for an instant. 

_I thought you could be so much more_ , he thinks, the memory of hope bitter, and sweet.

“I am disappointed.” 

Coward crumbles.


End file.
